Fatherhood Eve

Saturday, October 8, 2011

When I was twelve or thirteen, things started getting weird. I had to do everything an even number
of times. I started worrying about
germs a lot. I worried about what
other people were thinking about me.
I worried, period. I began
to over-analyze EVERYTHING.
Including my tendency toward over-analysis. I did not know what was going on. I was ashamed.
It wasn’t until years later, reading Howard Stern’s book ‘Private
Parts’, that I realized I was not the only one who did these things and felt
this way. That there was even a
name for it. Obsessive-Compulsive
Disorder. Since then, things have
gotten better. I don’t worry about
even numbers much. Germs are
still an issue. I have come to
terms with the fact that I think very differently than most people. Self-medication worked pretty well, but it almost killed me. I
even tried medication from the doctor.
That did kill me. It took away the OCD, but it also
changed my personality. I didn’t
realize this at the time. In hindsight,
while I might have been ‘happier’, I like being me…germphobia and all.

My
friend Rosanne Dingli recently wrote an excellent piece about writers and
depression - http://rosannedingli.blogspot.com/2011/09/authors-and-depression.html. She suggested I write
about writers and OCD. Instead, I
will write about one writer (me) and OCD.
Otherwise, I might have to do research or other distasteful things like
interview real, germy people and shake their hands and…you get the idea.

I
recently had an interesting conversation with a colleague of mine. We are both teachers. I remarked to her that all the good
teachers I have ever known have been weird. Weird in different ways, but weird nonetheless. Eccentric. Neurotic. We
both share the affliction of having overactive minds. I think about a million things all the time, and it is
tiring. She suggested that good
teachers are weird because, when you are teaching (well), you are engaged in
the moment completely. There is no
room for the myriad thoughts that swarm like mosquitos most of the time. I think she is on to something. It would explain why I like fishing (‘zen’
concentration) and motorcycles (‘don’t want to die’ concentration). But I digress, let’s talk about
writing.

Writing
fits this pattern. When I am
writing, I am not thinking about anything else. Not even thinking about writing, really. I enter a weird, detached state. It is quite soothing. There is also the issue of control. Part of OCD, for me, is fear of the
things I can’t control, i.e. germs.
And the compulsions that help me feel like I do have a bit of control. Washing my hands a million times a
day. The counting I used to
do. Etc. Writing is a great way of being in control. When I am writing fiction, I am
God. I control my characters. I control the plot. It is my world. (This is not
completely true, but I convince myself it is). Regardless, writing gives me two things that my OCD
craves … control and escape. Without
being hung over or strung out … and without fundamentally changing my
personality.

OCD
is an interesting affliction. My
wife always says that she could never have OCD because she can’t remember
things long enough to obsess about them.
I remember everything. Or
at least the non-important things … like to check the stove twice before I leave
the house (the number thing isn’t totally
gone, I guess). But that is the
real bitch of the disorder. People
who have OCD realize it makes no logical sense. I know that most people don’t think about germs all the time
and they live happy and productive lives.
There are people who are afraid to write anything down because they
might write something ‘bad’ in the middle of what they are writing. When I had to turn the lights on and
off sixteen times before bed, I knew
it was ridiculous, but by performing the compulsion, it eased the pain of the
obsession. It is a weird position
to be in. You know what you are
doing is ridiculous, but the ridiculous action (whatever it is) scratches the
itch that will otherwise keep you up all night.

OCD
is related to Tourettes and this makes perfect sense to me. Screaming profanities in public is
frowned upon. Being so worried
about doing it that you end up doing it makes sense. My wife laughs when people hurt themselves. My friend Kyle laughs at funerals. They are both extraordinarily nice
people, but they KNOW they shouldn’t laugh. They want to not laugh so badly that they end up doing
it. I get it.

I
think a lot of people have minor OCD tendencies and don’t realize it. When my wife and I started dating I
would come over to her apartment, take my shoes off by the door, and go upstairs. When it was time to leave, they would
be neatly lined up next to each other.
No big deal. I am not one to
judge. So, the next time I lined my
shoes up neatly. It took a couple
times for me to realize that when I left them reversed (right shoe on the left
side), they would be ‘corrected’ when I left. I asked about it.
Turns out my wife can’t see shoes like that and not imagine mangled
limbs. I get it.

One
of the nice things about having OCD is that I don’t judge other people for
their ‘quirks’. Everybody has
something. I know a lot of writers
and a lot of them carry hand sanitizer everywhere they go. It makes perfect sense. In a world that is scary (OCD is the
fight or flight response gone haywire) what better way to deal with your OCD
issues than by retreating to a world where you can control everything and your
mind is 100% occupied by the task at hand? This post ended up a little longer than I had planned. It is time to go back to the real,
dirty world now. But writing will always be waiting for me. And that
knowledge gives me more strength than booze or Paxil ever did.